


Fyrdgesteallan

by rubyofkukundu



Series: Aelfland [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Elves, Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1620056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyofkukundu/pseuds/rubyofkukundu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can be read as a standalone.</p>
<p>For the first time, the Elves have agreed to fight for the English. One of those to join the English campaign is an Elf named Gwion and he soon finds that the land of men is not quite what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fyrdgesteallan

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta [Dagorhir](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dagorhir).

The Elvish horde entered the clearing one by one, each appearing through the space between two trees. Voices soon usurped the sound of the rain on the branches, and the dank, green leaves on the ground glistened as they shifted under the lightest of footfalls.

Gwion was one of the last to pass through into the clearing, the sudden rain on his face making him wrinkle his nose in displeasure. His comrades at the front of the party were already setting off into the undergrowth, their short, green tunics fading in amongst the leaves around them. Pulling a strip of leather from his pack to tie his hair up out of his eyes, Gwion followed those in front and headed off into the trees.

It was easy to feel the presence of men all over this place. The feeling was so strong that Gwion could almost taste it; a strange, unfamiliar sensation that hung in the back of his throat.

"Tell me," Eynon jogged up to Gwion from behind and fell into step beside him, "how do you find the land of men? Is it what you were expecting?"

Gwion gave him a brief smile and looked up at the canopy above them. "It is more damp than I was expecting," he said. "Other than that, I was expecting..." Gwion sighed and looked back down. "To tell the truth, I was expecting something a bit more exotic."

Eynon laughed. "You're not the first to be disappointed. This place is not so different to home." He quickened his pace and pushed through the trees ahead of Gwion. "I did try to warn you."

Gwion scoffed. "'Warn' is a light word for trying to dissuade me completely." He followed Eynon over a fallen tree-trunk that lay across the path. "Honestly, you're as bad as Father. You both seem to think I'm still a child when I'm more than old enough to make my own decisions."

Eynon threw him a glance over his shoulder. "Fighting men's wars is not as trivial as you would think."

Gwion snorted. "And theirs are so different to other wars are they? I have fought before."

"Only once, Gwion. One battle does not make you wise in the--"

"Eynon," called a voice from behind them, "leave him be."

Looking around, Gwion found Leget walking up to them, his sword swinging at his hip.

"We were all new to war at one time or another," said Leget, smiling down at Gwion as he fell in beside him, "but your brother's concern is understandable all the same," and he gave Eynon a smile too.

Gwion frowned. "What is it like, then, to fight men? Are they not as weak as everyone says?" He glanced at the wood about them but there were no men to be seen anywhere.

"Oh, they're weak enough." Leget hefted his pack onto his other shoulder. "Men die as easily as wheat falling before a scythe."

"Then--" started Gwion.

"But what they lack in strength, they make up for in guile, and ambition, and determination." Leget gave Gwion a wry glance. "Did you know that the men of Rome harried our own borders once, not too long ago? To underestimate them would be dangerous."

"I know that," said Gwion, "I _have_ heard the songs. But I also know that the men of Rome have forsaken this place." He gave Leget a pointed look. "The only people we are fighting in this war are the British."

Leget laughed. "True enough." He stepped ahead of Gwion, following Eynon and those ahead of them out onto a wider path. "But only a fool would think that the British would give up their home easily."

Gwion shrugged his shoulders. "They do not have us on their side. What is the worst they can do?"

***

After two hours' march through rain and then sun the Elvish horde reached a low hill, its wooded sides rising up from the flat, marshy lands below. Without stopping, the horde made their way through the trees and up the hill until the ground levelled out and the foliage gave way to a large clearing. This, Gwion found, was where the English camp lay.

A great part of the clearing had been made recently; one half of it was littered with fresh tree-stumps and the smell of sap hung in the air as the last life in the hewn trees ebbed away. At the other end of the clearing stood several large tents of rich, bright cloth, their entrances closed to the outside.

All around, between the tree-stumps, before the tents, and huddled beside many burning campfires, were men. Indeed, they were almost everywhere Gwion looked. Stocky and squat, some of them; thin, gnarled and old, others. Long, woollen tunics. Haired faces. Muddy boots.

Gwion's breath caught in his throat.

That many of the men were new to this land was easy to see. It rolled off of them in waves; a feeling of other places, of strange forests and coastal bays, far across the sea.

As the Elvish horde halted at the edge of the camp, a silence settled over the men. Faces turned towards the Elves, eyes staring wide. Some of the men muttered to themselves but none moved.

Not all was still though. The entrance to one of the tents rustled open and soon a group of men emerged, each one wearing a sword and a cape, and one holding a bright, shining helmet. They stopped before the horde and stood watching as one from their number, with a blue hood over his head, strode forwards and made the Elves an elaborate bow.

"Oh, beautiful people," he said in faltering, accented Elvish, addressing the horde. "Oh, mighty ones. We lowly men beseech your aid," and he bowed again.

The head of the horde, an Elf called Deys, stood forward. "Who are you?" he asked the man with the blue hood. "Do you speak for all these English men?"

"Yes, my Lord." The man nodded. "I am Gelbold son of Gelwib. I am one of the few who have had the honour of learning your tongue." Here, he pulled his sword from its sheath and laid it on the grass in front of him, then stood back. "I would that we speak in peace."

Deys sniffed, then drew his own sword and set it on the ground before him. As he stood back up, he looked to the men behind Gelbold, giving a solemn nod to one who carried the helmet.

"We ask for your strength," said Gelbold, "and your arms. The British men in this place are hardy and fight like hounds. We can only drive them so far. But with your help we will push them out of this land. Our homes are..."

Gwion leaned over to his brother. "I thought this had all been agreed," he whispered. "Why are they asking us again when we have already sworn to fight for them?"

Eynon looked amused. "Politics, Gwion." he answered. "There are ways these things must be done. Besides," he nodded at the men around them, "they are wary of us; look at them. I doubt many of them have even seen an Elf before. But they know who we have fought for in the past."

"They think we're going to defect to the British side?" asked Gwion.

Eynon's lips curled upwards. "They're not sure what we will do." He looked to where Gelbold was bowing low again. "Hence the pretty speeches."

"...just reward," Gelbold was saying, "for the victors. Win us this war and we will give you land here, and gold, and women, if you want them. We..."

With a sigh, Gwion looked around. The camp did not seem so different to an Elvish one, but the men themselves... He had never seen anything like it before. They were old, young, tall, short, thick, thin. Gwion had known that men were blunt and ugly, that they suffered age and disease and deformity, but he hadn't realised how varied they would be. Elves looked like Elves, but men, it seemed, could look completely unlike one another and yet still be of the same people.

Most surprising was that the men weren't all as ugly as Gwion had been led to believe. Many were, of course, like Gelbold with his fleshy chin and his round, bulbous nose. But some weren't ugly at all; not in the slightest.

In particular, Gwion's attention was drawn to one of Gelbold's group. He wore a red cloak about his shoulders and stood beside the man with the helmet, watching Gelbold with interest. This red-cloaked man had a youthfulness that could have been Elvish, but his beauty was all his own. His golden hair was trimmed short and he wore hair on his face, but only on his top lip. His jaw was wide, his nose straight, and his eyes set far apart. Together, his looks should have been strange, but instead they were so becoming and so unlike anything Gwion had seen before that he found himself captivated.

It was only when this man turned to look at Gwion that Gwion realised he had been staring. With a start Gwion looked away, but he couldn't help himself from smiling.

Beside Gwion, Eynon shifted, and Gwion realised that Deys was speaking again.

"It is agreed," Deys was saying. "We shall fight for you." He turned and addressed the horde. "We will fight alongside the English!"

There was a roar as the Elves gave a cheer of assent. Gwion joined in eagerly, laughing at Eynon and Leget as they both turned around to grin at him.

Gelbold was talking quietly to the man with the helmet, but shortly he stood forward again. "Tomorrow," called Gelbold, "we march out into the British lands. But tonight we ask that you dine with us, as our guests."

This earned another cheer from the horde, which soon dissolved into laughter and talking, and Gelbold was unable to say any more.

"So." Leget patted Gwion on the back. "Tomorrow, Gwion, you get to fight men for the first time. Are you excited?"

Gwion grinned. "I am. Although I'm more excited about tonight." He looked at the campfires around them. "Tell me: is the food of men any good?"

Leget laughed and rested an arm on Gwion's shoulder. "Very good."

***

The meal they were given was fine indeed. One of the tents was opened at the side, with the raised canopy large enough to provide cover for several trestle tables and benches. Here Gwion and Eynon dined, as did Leget and all other Elves of rank, along with the nobles among the men.

Before eating, the company were invited to wash their hands in perfumed water from a gleaming, copper bowl. It was then that teams of serving-men brought the food to the tables; fine, roasted meats, both flesh and fowl, and only the whitest bread. The beer, too, was plentiful and the diners drank from cups of thin, delicately-wrought horn.

Gwion thought that the leader of these English men must be very rich to afford all this. He voiced his opinion to Eynon, who grinned at him.

"I suppose the Thegn must be," agreed Eynon, "and I hear his King is richer still." He took a bite of his bread and swallowed. "We will do well if we stay in their favour."

Sat on the other side of Gwion, Leget was talking to a group of Elves Gwion had only met that morning. "Ask Ener," Leget was saying, "he has fought men many a time and knows it well. Their weakness is magic; they're as susceptible to it as a newborn baby."

"Always?" asked one of the Elves.

"Always." Leget took a sip of his beer. "Myself, I like to sing them a song of sleeping. Even the softest song will make them waver on their feet." He smirked. "And then I run them through."

"But the British know our ways," said one Elf. "Surely they will try to counter any magic we do?"

Another scoffed. "How would they? They are dull to it. There's more magic in this table than there is in a man." Leget and the other Elves laughed.

Gwion looked over to the table where the men sat. They seemed to be in just as high spirits as the Elves, laughing and talking together. And indeed, try as Gwion might, he could see no evidence of magic among them. What strange creatures they were, to enter into war so lightly when they were so fragile and weak. It was lucky for the English that they had the Elves on their side; with their help, the British didn't stand a chance.

He wasn't able to think about fighting for long, however. Once again, as he had done several times already, Gwion scanned the table of men to pick out the one who had been wearing the red cloak earlier. This man was engaged in an animated conversation with the man next to him and appeared even more beautiful than before in contrast to that man's haggard appearance.

Gwion was still amazed at how fair the red-cloaked man appeared. It was such a strange and unusual beauty that it made it hard for Gwion to concentrate on anything else, especially when, as had happened many times already, this man caught Gwion watching him and graced him with a smile before returning to his conversation.

Laughing, Gwion elbowed his brother. "Eynon," he said, "I am confused. I thought all men were supposed to be ugly. Have I been lied to?"

Eynon turned to him with raised eyebrows, but his expression quickly turned serious. "No, Gwion," he said. "No. Put those thoughts out of your head. I won't allow it." Then Eynon sat back and gestured to the serving-men for more beer.

Gwion pursed his lips. "You won't allow that some men can be beautiful? Because I would beg to differ."

"I don't mean that." Eynon sighed, taking his refilled cup from the servant and knocking his shoulder against Gwion's. "I know you, Gwion, and I say, no. Relations with men are a bad idea. It will not end well."

"You can't know that..." started Gwion, when Eynon leaned across him and plucked at Leget's sleeve to gain his attention.

"Leget," said Eynon. "Gwion needs your wisdom. Please tell him why Elves and men do not make a good match. I am worried he is going to go and do something foolish."

"I was merely saying that not all men are ugly," protested Gwion.

"And that was all?" Leget laughed. "You must think that we don't know you at all, Gwion." He nodded to the table of men. "I shan't ask which of them you have your eye on, but I will say that getting involved with men is dangerous."

Gwion scoffed. "Dangerous? How, exactly?"

Leget opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. He gave Gwion a long look. "Have I ever told you about my sister-in-law?"

Gwion frowned. "Your sister-in-law? I didn't know your wife had a sister."

"She doesn't," said Leget. "I mean my brother's wife."

Gwion's frown deepened. "But your brother isn't married."

"Not any more." Leget sighed and sat up straighter. "My brother was married before you were born, Gwion. To a British woman."

"Oh," said Gwion. "You mean--"

"She died," said Leget, "and so did her children." He looked at Gwion. "Not immediately, but it felt like it. Almost before we knew it they had withered and died like leaves on a tree in the winter-time."

"Then..." Gwion looked down to his lap. "I am sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

Leget clapped a hand on Gwion's shoulder. "They are old wounds." He gave Gwion a smile. "We have learned the hard way. Don't you tread the same path."

"I won't," said Gwion, shaking his head. "Don't worry. I don't mean to form any attachments."

Eynon snorted. "No, Gwion, you won't get involved at all." He turned Gwion around to look at him. "Listen to me. It is dangerous. There is more at stake than just your happiness here." Eynon gestured to the men around them. "We hardly know the English at all. We don't know how they take to people of your... _inclinations_. If they don't like it, a rash action on your part could ruin the alliance, or do worse."

"I think you worry too much," said Gwion. He looked across to find that the red-cloaked man was watching him again. Gwion raised his cup to him. "I am certain that there are English men out there who would like my inclinations just fine."

Beside Gwion, Eynon gasped. "Of all the... Gwion," hissed Eynon, "do you even know who that is?"

"I--" started Gwion.

"That is the Thegn's son! If word got out to his father..." Eynon ran his hands through his hair, "Please, Gwion, don't do anything. Not with him. Find someone else if you have to, but stay away from him."

"He's right," said Leget. "It could end very badly. More so than we know."

"But--" said Gwion.

"Anyone," said Eynon looking around them. "There are plenty of Elves here. I'm sure you can find one to indulge you." He looked to Gwion. "Just leave the men alone, and the Thegn's son especially." Then Eynon stood. He patted Leget on the shoulder as he made to leave the tent. "I've had enough. Leget, talk some sense into him, won't you?"

Gwion watched as Eynon pushed through the throng and made his way outside.

"He's not trying to coddle you, you realise," said Leget. "His point is a valid one. It would be wise to stay away from the Thegn's son."

Gwion turned, ready to protest, but Leget just sighed.

"If you must, Gwion," said Leget, leaning closer, "at least try to be discreet."

***

Luckily for Leget, Gwion was well-versed in discretion.

That night, once they had feasted and drunk and sung songs of war, the Elves and the men left the tent and settled down to sleep among the camp fires.

Gwion waited until most were asleep, including Eynon lying beside him. It was then, with the night sky fully dark above them, that Gwion got up.

Carefully so as not to wake those around him, Gwion made his way to the edge of the camp. Above him he could see silent silhouettes of the Elves that had been posted as sentries in the trees, but it was out and away from the camp that they watched; they had no interest in what Gwion was doing below.

Keeping beneath the trees, Gwion walked along the camp's edge until he came to a blue tent, where he stopped and listened. Gwion had been very careful to pay attention earlier that evening; he knew that this tent was where the Thegn's son slept with some of the other men.

There was no sound of any wakefulness from the tent but Gwion was willing to take a chance. He swung himself up into the nearest tree, perched on one of the lowest branches and hooted like a tawny owl.

When there was no response, Gwion repeated the call, and then twice more. He was rewarded by a movement in the tent and shortly afterwards the entrance to the tent flapped open.

Out from the tent stepped the Thegn's son, still dressed in his embroidered tunic and trousers from earlier in the evening.

Stretching, the Thegn's son looked about himself, seemingly searching for source of the noise.

Grinning at his own success, Gwion hooted again and then laughed as the Thegn's son finally looked up and spotted him.

The Thegn's son walked towards him with a smile, saying something in English, but Gwion was wary of waking up anyone else; so he flashed the Thegn's son a grin, jumped down from the tree and ran off into the wood behind him.

He could easily hear when the Thegn's son gave chase, his footsteps through the undergrowth heavy enough to rival a herd of oxen.

Gwion laughed again. He stopped, turned, and waited for the Thegn's son to catch up a little, then hooted and ran off some more.

The Thegn's son was laughing too, a breathless, happy sound, and he was calling something in English that Gwion didn't understand.

Together, they ran and ran through the trees and down the slopes of the hill until Gwion heard the Thegn's son stumble slightly behind him. Turning, Gwion saw that they were far enough from the camp that the light from the campfires was only dim, the undergrowth forming dark shapes around them. The Thegn's son stumbled again and Gwion realised belatedly that the man was finding it harder to see with the light so faint.

So Gwion stopped running completely. He stood still, panting to catch his breath, and waited to be caught.

The Thegn's son slowed to a halt when he came within a few paces of where Gwion stood. He swallowed, breathing hard, and ran a hand through his hair. Then he looked Gwion in the eye and said something in his guttural English language, taking a careful step forwards as he said it.

Gwion laughed. "I don't understand you." And closing the distance between them, he stepped up and kissed the Thegn's son on the lips.

The Thegn's son made a noise in the back of his throat but he kissed Gwion in return, the hair on his top lip brushing Gwion's skin in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Throwing his arms around Gwion's shoulders, the Thegn's son shuddered as Gwion opened his mouth.

"You are so beautiful," whispered Gwion, pulling back slightly to leave lingering kisses on the corners of the Thegn's son's lips, on his cheeks. "I've wanted you all evening."

The Thegn's son traced a hand over the back of Gwion's neck and and said something in English that sounded like a question.

Gwion looked at him and then got down to sit on the damp ground, beckoning the Thegn's son to join him. "You don't speak Elvish, do you?" asked Gwion, leaning across to kiss the Thegn's son as he crouched down beside him.

The Thegn's son said something else in English, getting onto his knees and straddling Gwion's thighs as he ran a hand over Gwion's hip.

"And I don't speak English." Sighing, Gwion picked up one of the man's hands and pressed a kiss to the palm. Above him, the Thegn's son inhaled. Encouraged, Gwion dropped the hand and ducked his head, leaving a kiss beneath the Thegn's son's jaw and hearing him gasp.

With a huff, Gwion fell back to lie on the ground, the dark, dank carpet of grass and twigs catching in his hair. He looked up at the wide-set eyes above him. "If I could at least know your name..." After a moment, Gwion pursed his lips and put a hand to his own chest. "Gwion," he said. "I am Gwion. Gwion."

The Thegn's son frowned.

Gwion persevered. "Gwion," he said, gesturing at himself. "Gwion."

One half of the Thegn's son's mouth had curled upwards. "Gwion?" He put his own hand to Gwion's chest. "Gwion?"

"Yes." Gwion laughed at his success. "Gwion. I am Gwion."

The Thegn's son laughed too and said something in English that ended with "Gwion."

"And you are?" asked Gwion, putting his hand to the Thegn's son's chest. He gestured to himself again then gestured to the Thegn's son. "I am Gwion, and you are?"

"Wulflaf," said the Thegn's son.

Gwion smiled breathlessly. "Wulflaf," he repeated.

The Thegn's son frowned slightly, clearly not quite satisfied. "Wulflaf," he said, more slowly this time. "Wulflaf."

"Wulflaf," tried Gwion again. He was not sure that he had pronounced it any differently, but this time Wulflaf laughed and kissed him.

Gwion chuckled. "Wulflaf," he said again, and kissed him once more, wrapping his arms around Wulflaf's torso and pulling him closer.

Going with the movement, Wulflaf allowed himself to be pulled down, pressing his body tight against Gwion's as he kissed him.

Together like this, there was no mistaking that Wulflaf was hard within his trousers. Gwion reached a hand down to touch Wulflaf through the fabric, his breath shuddering slightly as his fingers found the line of Wulflaf's erection. Wulflaf felt similar to the Elves that Gwion had known before: solid and warm and good, jolting a little as Gwion cupped his hand over the shape of him.

Wulflaf made a soft noise and kissed Gwion harder, fumbling down with his own hand and kneading Gwion's erection through his leggings.

Gwion groaned and soon he pushed Wulflaf away so he could sit up. Wulflaf frowned for a second as he sat up too, but he seemed to understand when Gwion unfastened his own belt then reached for Wulflaf's. Helping Gwion, Wulflaf undid his belt and tugged his trousers down to his ankles, then he leaned across and helped tug down Gwion's leggings in turn, the both of them pushing their tunics up to their chests and out of the way.

Wulflaf said something that included "Gwion" but Gwion wasn't paying attention. Exposed to the night air, Wulflaf was hard and erect, with hair glittering over his abdomen and his thighs in a way that Gwion hadn't seen before.

It was captivating, as was the smell of Wulflaf and the feel of him when Gwion leaned across and ran a hand up his cock.

Suddenly, two hands clasped themselves around Gwion's own erection making Gwion gasp. Looking up, he found Wulflaf smiling at him and felt Wulflaf jump beneath his palm.

"Oh, Wulflaf." Gwion kissed him then, stroking the warmth in his hand and taking a deep breath as Wulflaf did the same with his own hands, his fingers nimble and quick.

With a groan, Wulflaf broke the kiss and fell back to the ground, pulling Gwion down beside him onto the damp grass. Then he rolled across to catch Gwion's cock up in his hands again.

Gwion grinned breathlessly. He brought his hand up to his mouth for a moment and spat on it, then reached down to clasp Wulflaf in his now slick grip.

Wulflaf shuddered noticeably and said something in English. Then he quickly copied Gwion, the sudden slickness of his fingers making Gwion's toes curl within his boots.

They kissed messily, hands stroking and legs shifting. One of Wulflaf's knees slid over the outside of Gwion's thigh and Gwion made a desperate noise as he felt the tip of Wulflaf's cock pressing wetly against his abdomen.

Wulflaf's hands had grown hot, sliding sweetly, and Gwion had to break the kiss and bite his lip against the feel of it. He spat on his hand again and stroked Wulflaf faster, feeling him shudder against him.

There was something so visceral about Wulflaf; the noise of his breathing and the slick noise of Gwion's fingers on his cock. It was so different to anything Gwion had known before. Wulflaf smelled different to an Elf and he felt different to an Elf and Gwion was captivated by every part of it.

The hair on Wulflaf's face brushed against Gwion's cheek and the hair on Wulflaf's abdomen was coarse as Gwion reached another hand down blindly to feel all he could, strength and hair and sweat beneath his fingers.

Wulflaf just moaned, curling up tighter towards Gwion, hot skin and moist breath, slick fingers stroking Gwion faster and another hand running down over Gwion's testicles.

Gwion took a deep breath through his nose, fingers trembling. He attempted to stroke Wulflaf faster, feeling the muscles in Wulflaf's abdomen clench.

Wulflaf made an abortive noise and then another. One of his hands clasped Gwion's hip in a desperate grip and he surged forward to kiss Gwion on the mouth, tongues and coarse hair and heat as Wulflaf jolted and Gwion felt his semen spatter between them.

Panting, Wulflaf broke the kiss. Then he pushed Gwion onto his back, lay half on top of him and stroked him hard and fast and slick until Gwion was gasping, shoulders rolling and one hand clutching at the grass beside him as he ejacualted over Wulflaf's fingers.

Wulflaf said something in English that started with "Gwion" but Gwion had closed his eyes and was too busy trying to catch his breath to work out what it might mean.

A soft kiss to Gwion's lips made him open his eyes. Wulflaf then lifted one of Gwion's hands and kissed that too. He was smiling.

Gwion smiled in return, and when their eyes met it bubbled out as a laugh.

Wulflaf laughed as well, eyes bright, and he fell back down to rest his head against Gwion's breastbone.

"Oh," Gwion wiped his palms on the grass and then brought one hand up to run his fingers through Wulflaf's short hair, "you are entrancing."

Wulflaf was stroking a line over Gwion's hip and said something in return, whatever that may be. Gwion could feel him smile against his chest.

Gwion smiled too and looked up at the dark shapes of the trees above them, their leaves rustling in the slight breeze. It was only then that Gwion realised something he hadn't given much thought to earlier: everything about Wulflaf resonated with this place; in the look of him, the feel of him, the taste of him. He had spent all of his life in this land. It was painted all over him.

The other men in the English camp, though; many of them had felt of other places, of distant lands across the sea. It followed what Gwion had been told: the English were new in this land. They couldn't have been here for more than thirty years. And so for Wulflaf to have grown up in this place...

Gwion looked at him in wonder. "Just how young are you?" he asked.

Wulflaf lifted his head with a smile, not understanding.

"You men are strange creatures," said Gwion. He went to say something more but stopped as he glimpsed a brief flicker of light in the sky above them.

On an instant, the tone of the woods around them changed. A wave of fear swept from the grass beneath them and shivered up to the tips of the trees. In several directions, birds started up alarm calls.

Gwion sat up. The sky flickered with lights once more.

Wulflaf said something that sounded like a question but Gwion didn't stop to look at him. Instead he stood and pulled up his leggings, quickly fastening his belt and tugging down his tunic. Then he swung himself up into the nearest tree and climbed to the very highest branches.

"Gwion?" he heard Wulflaf call from below. "Gwion!"

Looking out and away from the English camp, Gwion saw it. There was a soft glow amongst the dark of the trees, followed by a brief burst of flame. Glinting in that light were the mail coats of an army of men, marching towards the hill where the camp lay. And with them, large and lumbering, was a Dragon.

Gwion's blood ran cold.

"Dragon!" he shouted. "The British have a Dragon!"

Wulflaf shouted something back in English, sounding confused, and Gwion took a breath.

Looking down, he saw Wulflaf, fully-dressed, standing at the base of the tree and frowning upwards. So Gwion climbed back down to the lowest branch, which was still a way from the ground. Holding onto the tree-trunk with one arm, he reached down his other hand to Wulflaf.

"Take it," offered Gwion.

Wulflaf gave him a questioning look.

Gwion gestured to the top of the tree with a jerk of his head and stretched out his hand further. "Please."

Seeming to understand, finally, Wulflaf took Gwion's hand and Gwion helped him to clamber up into the tree. Then, with Gwion stopping to help him every now and again, Wulflaf climbed up as far as he could go.

From where Wulflaf was sitting, somewhat below the branches that Gwion could reach, he couldn't have been able to see much, but Gwion pointed in the direction of the Dragon and watched as Wulflaf's face turned pale.

Wulflaf said something in English that must have meant _Dragon_. He looked to Gwion with wide eyes and Gwion nodded.

For a moment, they did nothing more than stare at each other and then, suddenly spurred into action, they both started back down the tree.

A flicker of flame lit the sky once more as Gwion jumped from the lowest branch and helped Wulflaf down to the ground.

Wulflaf paced a few steps around the bottom of the tree and ran his hands through his hair. Then he stopped, stepped up to Gwion and kissed him strongly. Gwion kissed back as hard as he could, cupping his hands over the back of Wulflaf's neck and feeling Wulflaf's heart beating fast in his chest.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily. Gwion could see the whites of Wulflaf's eyes as their gazes met.

Wulflaf wiped his hand over his mouth, said something that ended with "Gwion" and turned to run back up the hill to the English camp.

Gwion followed, and indeed soon overtook him, the harsh sound of Wulflaf's footsteps fading back into the distance. The lights of the campfires grew brighter and brighter as Gwion drew closer to the camp, but the light from the British lingered ominously as a haze in the sky above him.

Most were asleep when Gwion burst through into the clearing, the still forms of men and Elves lying around the fires, but Gwion was quickly spotted by the Elvish sentries in the trees.

"Who goes there?" called down one of them.

Gwion stopped running and spun around to look up at him. "Dragon!" shouted Gwion. "The British are on their way and they have a Dragon with them!"

"A Dragon--?" started the sentry.

"Where is Deys?" called Gwion, trying to catch his breath. "I need to tell him."

"In the largest tent. There," called the sentry, pointing. "He's talking to the Thegn."

Not stopping to reply, Gwion turned and ran to the tent the sentry had indicated. Behind him, he could hear the sentry blowing his horn.

Inside the tent, a fire was burning and Deys was sat beside it along with several men, including Gelbold and the man who must have been the Thegn. They all looked alarmed as Gwion pushed his way inside, panting. Deys stood.

"The British are on their way," said Gwion. He swallowed and took a breath. Outside the tent, the noise of the horns grew louder as more sentries took up the call. "They have an army of men," said Gwion, "and they have a Dragon."

Deys' eyes widened. "A Dragon?" Behind him, Gelbold was speaking quickly to the Thegn in English, presumably translating the message.

At that moment, two more Elves entered the tent and were startled as Wulflaf came running in behind them.

The Thegn stood up. "Wulflaf!"

Dashing past the Elves and stopping beside the hearth, Wulflaf said something hurriedly in English to the Thegn and the men, then he leaned down to rest his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

"Wake everybody up," said Deys to Gwion and the other Elves. His face was grim. "Tell them to prepare for battle. Tell them the British are bringing a Dragon upon us."

Gwion nodded, and with one last glance at Wulflaf, he swallowed and headed back outside.

Out in the open, most people were now awake, some standing and some sitting with an expression of drowsy confusion on their faces.

"Wake up!" shouted Gwion, heading out among the campfires. To his left he could hear the two other Elves taking up the same call. "The British are on their way!" cried Gwion. "Wake up! Arm yourselves! Get ready! Wake up!"

Behind him, several men emerged from the tent and began calling instructions in English.

"The British have a Dragon with them!" shouted Gwion. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

"They have a Dragon?" asked an Elf, frowning up from where he sat to Gwion's right. "How?"

"I don't know," answered Gwion. "All I know is that it is on its way and will be here very soon." He turned and headed over to where he had left his pack. "Arm yourselves!" he called. "The battle is upon us! They have a Dragon! Arm yourselves!"

Eynon and Leget were both where Gwion had first left them sleeping, although they were now wide awake and standing, watching Gwion's approach with worried expressions.

"The British have a Dragon?" asked Leget.

"Yes." Gwion crouched down to reach his pack. "I saw it. With an army of men. They're coming this way."

If Eynon and Leget had their suspicions as to why Gwion had been awake to see the Dragon, neither of them said anything.

At that moment, Deys emerged from the tent and headed towards the largest group of Elves.

The Thegn had emerged too, and was already shouting something to the men.

"All Elves to me!" called Deys. "All Elves to me!"

Standing, Gwion followed the others and jogged over to where Deys stood.

"Listen!" called Deys as the Elves approached. "The British are on their way and they have a Dragon with them! The fight is upon us whether we wish it or not!" He held up his hand. "Heed me well! I will need you do three things. One! You will stay quiet when the British approach. They mean to ambush us in our sleep and we will turn the surprise to our own advantage." He looked at the Elves surrounding him. "Two! We hold the high ground. Keep to it. Do not give it up at any cost. And three!" His teeth flashed in a grin. "Leave the English to fight the British. Men should fight men! Our job," he called, "is to take down the Dragon as soon as possible! Do you understand?"

"Yes!" cried Gwion and those around him.

"Ready yourselves," called Deys. "Find your arms. Now! Go!" And turning, he headed back to the tent he had come from.

Clenching his jaw, Gwion made his way over to his pack. He pulled out his padded under-coat and had Eynon help him put it on. Then, together, they took out Gwion's tunic of mail and lifted it over his head, letting it fall to his knees once he had placed his arms through the sleeves. The cold weight of the links settling on Gwion's shoulders was reassuring at least.

Breathing out, Gwion turned and helped Eynon and Leget to dress in their own mail in turn.

"This isn't right," said Eynon, buckling his leather scabbard about his waist. "How do the British have a Dragon?"

"I imagine that the Dragons and the British have come to an agreement to fight for each other," replied Leget, tying back his hair and then picking up his helmet. The iron shined between his hands.

"But the Dragons have never fought for the British before," protested Eynon.

Leget gave a wry smile. "And we," he said, "have never fought for the English before." He slid his helmet down over his head. "The tide of time changes us all."

Eynon huffed in response.

"Have you fought a Dragon before?" asked Gwion.

"Myself?" said Leget. "Yes; twice."

Gwion picked up his sword-belt and looked at Leget. "What was it like?"

Beneath Leget's helmet, between the nose-guard and cheek-pieces, it was hard to see his expression. The corners of his mouth curled. "Difficult."

Just as Gwion had buckled on his sword and placed his own helmet on his head, Deys emerged from the Thegn's tent once more.

This time Deys was armed, his mail and helmet glinting in the lights of the campfires as he strode across the clearing, a brightly-painted shield on his arm and a sword at his side. It was heartening to see. The British may have had a Dragon but an Elf dressed in armour and purpose was a fearsome sight.

A sentry ran up to Deys and they spoke quickly together before Deys moved on.

"They draw closer!" called Deys to the Elves around him. "All archers to the trees! To the trees, now! Ready yourselves!"

As a large number of Elves ran off and scrambled up into the trees, Gwion looked to the sky. The glow above the treetops was getting brighter. The Dragon was close.

"I want the rest of you to form a line!" called Deys. "Elves in a line! In a line!"

Gwion picked up his shield and, along with Eynon and Leget, headed off to join the ranks, facing the edge of the clearing where the British were expected. The foliage before them was dark but the light in the sky above it was growing like a sickening dawn. Some of the English were shouting orders too and a large group of armed men were forming their own line alongside the Elves.

"Stay with me," said Eynon to Gwion as they took their places with the other Elves, shoulder to shoulder and round shields together. "If you're with me I can protect you."

Gwion glanced at the glow in the sky. "I will," he said. "I will. We'll protect each other."

A subtle heat was starting to fill the air. "Remember what I told you," called Deys, stalking along the line. "Don't give up the high ground and we must be quiet as they approach. Archers!" He looked to the dark trees around them. "Hold your fire until you have the order! We don't want to let the British know we're awake and armed until we have to!" With that he stopped and took his own place in the line, while the Elves around him grew quiet.

Away to Gwion's right, the English men were settling into silence too, with only the faint clunk of a shield or a spear to be heard as they readied themselves. Presumably Wulflaf was with them. Gwion wondered if Wulflaf felt the apprehension just as keenly as Gwion did himself; if Wulflaf was as well-armed and well-protected as Gwion was.

The silence continued. All eyes were drawn to the growing light in the sky and the heat in the air dried Gwion's mouth. Carefully, so as not to make too much noise, he took out his sword and clasped it, ready.

A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees.

And then they heard it. It was the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Men's footsteps; an army's worth of feet pushing their way up the wooded slope towards the English camp.

Eynon's shoulder brushed Gwion's own. It was comforting to know that his brother was close beside him and as ready as he was. Out of the corner of his eye, Gwion saw Eynon's fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword.

All about them lay the sound of a company of men and Elves attempting to breathe quietly. Gwion straightened his back and tried to slow the beating of his heart.

The footsteps of the British men grew louder, but beneath the sound of footsteps was a noise that did not come from men at all: a low swishing sound, dreadful and ponderous, like that of a large tail dragging through the undergrowth. Then a brief puff of smoke flew up into the air behind the trees. The eyes of all Elves and men in the line followed it silently.

Gwion took a deep breath.

And the footsteps continued, louder and closer, with the air growing warmer and brighter by the moment. Up in the trees, Gwion could see the archers shifting impatiently as they awaited their orders; what they could see below them, he didn't know.

Finally, with the footsteps almost upon them and the sight of the undergrowth before the camp rustling, the Elves around Gwion readied themselves. Swords and spears were clutched tightly and shields were readied. The air was thick with the drawing of breath.

A ball of flame. Sudden. Blinding. The air scorched white hot.

There was no time to move. The flames flickered away to reveal a portion of the line seared into ash, along with two trees full of archers.

A groan of horror rose from a multitude of mouths. The very air tasted as if it had been burned. Corpses on the ground smoldered. Blackened bodies fell from the trees.

"Fire!" cried Deys, his voice hoarse. "Archers, fire!"

An angry shout from the undergrowth signalled the emergence of the British as they charged up into the clearing, spears lowered, metal glinting. Gwion's heart raced faster. Away at the far end of the line, English men and Elves roared as they seethed forward to meet the British charge. There was the sound of metal clanging and bodies hitting bodies, feet stomping.

Gwion clenched his sword. Arrows whisked through the air above them, thudding into something he couldn't see.

The ground vibrated with a low growl and a searing burst of flame took down another tree full of archers.

"Keep firing!" Deys was shouting. "Ignore the men! The Dragon is ours! The Dragon is ours!"

Steadily the British were drawing closer to Gwion's end of the line, but mixed in amongst the clashing and the shouting came a hollow whoosh of air. Gwion didn't know what the sound heralded until two large, grey wings unfolded themselves behind the smoking treetops and beat down. Once, twice they beat, blowing hot, stale air across the ground, and Gwion watched aghast as the wings beat again and the huge head and body of the Dragon rose into the air.

It was so much larger than he had realised.

"Don't let it take to the sky!" cried Deys. "Don't let it fly!"

The Dragon's nostrils were bright and its teeth glinted in the light of its own flames as it climbed higher and higher, leathery wings beating down and scales shining. Gwion took a step backwards, despite himself.

One of the English men was shouting something, but the noise of the fighting had, for a moment, receded. It would seem that even the British were cowed as their ally rose above them.

"Take it down!" cried Deys. "Archers, take it down! Take it down!"

More arrows flew into the air, thudding into the Dragon's side like a hail of needles. It lurched, one wing flapping to right itself, and breathed a line of fire across the clearing, so close that Gwion had to duck and raise his shield. Behind him, one of the English tents burst into flame.

"Take it down!" called Deys. "Take it down!"

More arrows. The Dragon flew higher but lurched again, growling. Gwion watched it warily, clutching his sword and his shield and readying himself to move. It was almost directly above him.

Beating its wings, the Dragon rolled in the air as more arrows hit it.

Then it dropped like a stone.

Gwion was running before he knew it, desperate to escape from beneath the Dragon's body. Beside him, other Elves were running too.

The ground shuddered as the Dragon crashed into it and Gwoin stumbled onto the grass, hearing the crack of falling trees around him. Gasping, he looked behind him to find the Dragon lying half in the clearing, its head and neck hidden amongst the trees and its body heaving.

A hand touched Gwion's shoulder. "Gwion." 

Jumping in surprise, Gwion turned to find Eynon beside him, his mail scorched and dull but his eyes bright. Behind him, Leget was getting to his feet.

The Dragon gave out a piercing scream and both Gwion and Eynon ducked.

"Don't let it fly again!" came the voice of Deys, sounding far away.

Gwion bared his teeth and clutched at Eynon's hand. "Come," he said and got up to follow Leget and the other Elves as they ran toward where the Dragon lay.

Atop a scar of exposed earth the Dragon was writhing, its thin tail waving and its breathing loud. More arrows thudded into its side and its wings clawed uselessly at the air. When Gwion reached it, he followed the Elves before him, throwing down his shield and climbing up a big, pawing hind-foot and onto a hot, heaving haunch.

The Dragon was so large that even from this position Gwion couldn't see its head.

With a terrible cry, the Dragon shifted worryingly beneath Gwion's feet. Beside him, Eynon was striking out with his sword at the hard, grey scales below them, trying to pierce them where he could. Grasping his own sword, Gwion attempted to do the same.

Twisting and flinching, the Dragon groaned and lifted its head to send another burst of flame skittering across the camp.

Gwion ducked down close to the Dragon's warm skin as the heavy heat of the fire roared above him, his heart galloping in his chest. As soon as the flames had died down, Gwion clambered up again, breathing hard, and resumed the work with his sword, attempting to wound the Dragon anywhere he could.

To Gwion's left, Leget had stood. "Aim for its neck!" Leget shouted to those further up the Dragon's body, trying to keep his balance as he ran up towards them. "Take off its head! Take off its head!"

Gwion swallowed, his sword-arm aching with exertion. Around him, some of the Elves were making progress, blood welling up from the gashes in the Dragon's skin and seeping darkly over its scales. Yet more Elves were standing to follow Leget's lead.

The Dragon groaned again, an awful, broken sound, and it curled in on itself, its tail whipping up into the air above them.

Gwion didn't even realise he had been caught and flung from the Dragon's body until he landed, hard, his cheek and shoulder scraping against the ground.

Confused and gasping into the earth, it took a long moment before he could work out what had happened. His helmet was gone and the air around him was cool against the heat of the Dragon's skin. Every muscle in his body ached.

Finally, looking up, Gwion saw the Dragon far away, writhing on the ground, its body swarming with Elvish soldiers.

The sword was still in his hand. Dazedly, Gwion stared at it. Then, with painful movements, he stood ready to join his comrades again.

There was a rustling behind him.

Gwion turned and jumped back with a gasp. A British soldier narrowly missed him with a sword. It was only luck that allowed Gwion to duck out of the way of another swing. Blindly, he slashed out with his own sword, catching the man's leg. The man gasped, stumbled to the ground, and Gwion slit his neck before he had a chance to right himself.

Carefully, Gwion breathed out. His hands were shaking.

A rush of footsteps to one side heralded more British soldiers, three of them this time, trying their luck against a lone, half-armed Elf. It was all Gwion could do to dodge one blade and block another with his sword. He kicked one of his attackers away and dodged again, wishing he had his shield with him.

It was then, with two of the men rushing upon him and the third getting to his feet, that Gwion remembered what Leget had mentioned earlier that evening.

_A song of sleeping._

Gwion dragged in a breath. He ducked, blocked another blow with his sword, and hissed out a few words from the first song he could think of. It wasn't tuneful in any way; he could barely voice the words, let alone sing, but he found that it didn't matter. One of the men tottered on his feet, the eyes of another flickered closed, and Gwion dispatched each of them with his sword.

Panting, Gwoin looked at the three corpses around him, almost amazed at how effective the song had been.

He hadn't expected it to work so easily. Men really were as susceptible to magic as the other Elves had said. He stared at the bodies in awe.

It was with a surging triumph that he wrested a shield away from one of the dead men's arms and took it as his own. Then he looked out at the battlefield. A group of British men were running towards him.

Gwion smiled.

Grasping his sword tightly, he strode out to meet them.

As Gwion walked, he sang under his breath. Man after man his attackers fell as they reached him and Gwion killed them with the ease of a child carelessly plucking flowers. He nearly laughed.

Just as Leget had said: men fell like wheat before a scythe.

When the last of Gwion's attackers had fallen at his feet, he rubbed at his cheek with the back of his wrist and looked about himself. Across the clearing, the Dragon lay finally still and lifeless, its blood darkening the ground around it. Gwion could make out Eynon and Leget amongst the Elves standing on top of its body. Elsewhere, small fires were burning and corpses lay strewn here and there, some a mass of helmets and tangled limbs and others merely charred shapes.

From the armour on the corpses, it appeared that they were mostly men and not Elves, and once again, Gwion couldn't help but wonder at how easily men died. He found it surprising that any men could be left alive at all.

On an instant, Gwion's optimism left him.

Suddenly, he saw the battlefield in a new light. His heart thudded in his chest. Everywhere Gwion looked were dead men, some so wretched as to be utterly unrecognizable.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Gwion hadn't seen Wulflaf since they had both run into the Thegn's tent to warn the Thegn and Deys of the Dragon's approach.

The tent in question had turned into no more than a pile of ash.

Wulflaf himself could have been anywhere.

Gwion licked his lips. On the other side of the clearing the English and the British were still fighting. Nowhere else were men still standing. Gwion turned and ran towards them, suddenly desperate, hoping that Wulflaf was among their number. And as he ran, panting, he passed corpse after corpse after corpse, some Elves but many more so men, their bodies twisted and their blank eyes staring.

Gwion's chest tightened, fingers trembling around the hilt of his sword.

He had nearly reached the remains of the battle when he was stopped by a voice. "Gwion?" it called, its accent strange. "Gwion!"

With a gasp, Gwion turned so quickly that he almost stumbled onto his knees. He barely had time to right himself before he was caught up in a fierce embrace.

The man who held him was laughing from beneath a scuffed helmet.

Gwion's hands shook. "Wulflaf?"

The man pulled away and removed his helmet to reveal that it was indeed Wulflaf, his mail stained and his jaw bruised but otherwise alive and fine.

Gwion's hands shook harder. "Oh, Wulflaf." Gwion threw down his sword and his shield and dragged Wulflaf back into his arms, hugging his shoulders tight. "Oh, I thought..."

Wulflaf laughed again and said something that ended with "Gwion," his voice cracking.

Gwion laughed too, legs trembling, and pressed his face into Wulflaf's hair.

Around them, amidst the burning tents and the mangled corpses, the sounds of battle continued.


End file.
